“When you grow up, your heart dies,” and so goes Allison in The Breakfast Club, a movie set in a library where five teenagers spent most of their time talking. It sounds kinda boring, I know, and kinda angsty, you’re right. But I distinctly remember teenager me murmuring, “I don’t want my heart to die.” Which is another way of saying, I don’t want to grow up or grow old, whichever comes first!

Of course, sooner or later, everybody grows old. And over the past year or so, my Generation X turned 50.

You’ll know that another one has bitten the dust when birthday greetings start pouring over social media groups followed by musings of growing old in resort-style nursing homes, forgetting what-nots, and feeling just a wee bit flushed.

It was always an occasion for celebration, this turning 50 thing. My childhood friends – God bless them for keeping us together – always managed to squeeze in a party, in one form or another. We threw a surprise dinner for one, where I had my mom as a dinner date and had a lauriat for two or three others, I think, which lasted for hours and left us all stuffed. We flew to Cebu, went on a shopping spree, and feasted on tapas for two other golden girls. We had an Audrey Hepburn-inspired dinner for another, where I got crazy drunk and had no qualms about embarrassing myself. We even sang acapella in a gym, in front of total strangers, to surprise another because, you know, that’s what friends are for!

Of course, when my turn came, I traveled eight hours to a deserted beach because I’m anti-social that way, but my friends love me anyway! I hope! Mwahahaha

And so we have grown old, and we have certainly grown up. We have the marriages, the children, the careers, and all other accoutrements of adulthood, if you may. We have the heartaches, the headaches, and the backaches, too.

But dear Allison, I am so very happy to tell you that we still have heart. We’re 50, and we’re not giving up!

One of us, who slapped cancer in the face, runs a school and teaches a personality class besides. A bunch of us did the volt in, and started a health business together. Tales of how they manage to DIY their events amaze me.

Another one of us has devoted her life, it seems, to protecting the environment, and I tell you that she looks practically the same as when we went to school together. Another does sports, and still another goes on these amazing trips around the globe with her family. Another writes so beautifully about food that you’d gain a pound or two just reading her, and still another cooks so deliciously that you’d want to spend serious time in her kitchen. Another is passionately devoted to her faith, another so passionately devoted to her children, and another so passionately devoted to public service.

When I was Allison’s age, I thought 50 was ancient. I thought it was old and boring. Fifty was Mr. Vernon. He was square, set in his ways, and sneaked a peek into confidential school files.

My 50 is none of that. My 50 is still hungry, still searching, still learning, still swimming. My 50 is Jeff Bezos, Keaunu Reeves, and Michelle Obama. And we’re not going nowhere, not just yet!